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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26006500">Chasing Disaster with a Girl from Space</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_desk_fairy/pseuds/the_desk_fairy'>the_desk_fairy</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dwight Schrute Porn, F/M, Funny and Crass, GingerRose Kink Weeks, Hux is from the Modern Setting, Masturbation, Rose is from the Star Wars Canonverse, Uniform Kink, Vaginal Sex, Voyeurism</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 04:20:12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>11,742</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26006500</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_desk_fairy/pseuds/the_desk_fairy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Armitage Hux is the assistant to the manager at a Staples. He’s cleaning the women’s bathroom one Friday (because his insolent staff has done yet another incompetent job) when a young woman inexplicably materializes into the stall next to him. She’s Rose Tico, resistance commander in a war happening a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away.<br/>Rose is perplexed when her new hyperspace-skipping experiment dumped her in a twenty-first century Staples bathroom. She’s even more infuriated when a stuffy ginger rains down his disapproval as he hauls her out of a toilet. Why can’t this grumpy Jawa-trash salesman just help her find the nearest offworld transport station? And why does that kriffing smile of his make her feel hotter than a Wookie on Tatooine?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Armitage Hux/Rose Tico, Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>54</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>62</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>GingerRose Kink Weeks</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The Girl in the Flight Suit</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElfMaidenOfLight/gifts">ElfMaidenOfLight</a>.</li>



    </ul><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Um, hi, @ElfMaidenofLight. This is a lil thank-you for all your incredible editing work and helping me grow so much as a writer over the last few months! I hope it makes you laugh!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’s Friday night.</p><p>Scraping sounds echo from the corner stall. Over the steady drips from one of the constantly-leaky faucets, the rasp of his middle-class mediocrity is churning, foaming, scratching. He’s kneeling over a round, porcelain bowl, ruthlessly scrubbing the interior rim.</p><p>“Details,” Hux mumbles. “Every detail pointing to a good customer experience will bring them back.”</p><p>The toilet brush darts toward the depths of the bowl. He strokes up and down like vindictive claws tearing that stupid grey film off the inside of his toilet.</p><p>“Don’t you pot-addled idiots know how easy it is to buy paper, or printers, or ballpoint pens off of Amazon?” His hisses have become snarls. “Do you think anyone will come back to Staples, Brytni, if you clock out before finishing the bathrooms every Friday?” </p><p>This is not what Hux should be doing right now. He should be at home with a steaming cup of Safeway brand Lapsang Souchong and a Stouffer’s in the microwave. He should be pages deep in that copy of Professional Woman Magazine that had inexplicably shown up in his mailbox yesterday. His Costco size bottle of Cetaphil was already perched on the side table, ready for another looksee at that delicious spread of astronaut Christina Koch. He couldn’t resist a woman in a jumpsuit.</p><p>Sprigs of his hair have fallen loose about his forehead, they splash about his eyes as he thrusts the brush into the depths of the drain, shoving, grunting. Sweat creeps down the scratchy neck of his polyester white polo.</p><p>“Where will you work when Staples crumbles under online purchases, Brytni?” He barks. “And don’t say you’ll be vaping competitively because I don’t know what that is but it sounds like hog shit!” His voice echoes menacingly off the bathroom’s bare walls.</p><p>Hux leans back and mists the toilet in bleach, depressing the pump again and again, inhaling the noxious migraine of it. It’s what he deserves, he thinks. The bowl squeaks slightly under his paper towel; in the shine left behind he can see the reflection of copper-red. His hair, the albatross: a metaphor for everything odd, out-of-place and ill fitting about him.</p><p><em> Useless, </em> the voice comes back to him, unbidden. <em> Thin as a slip of paper and just as useless. </em></p><p>“I’m Assistant Manager,” he says, recalling his faint protest across the Thanksgiving table. </p><p>“Assistant to the Manager!” His father had snapped. “A disappointment!”</p><p>The shadowed leg of the toilet wears a thin veil of dust and pubes. He does not mentally acknowledge these; with firm strokes of his folded paper towel he erases them. That’s what Hux is good for: taking the brunt of things. He’s taken all their disappointment, apathy and pubes and turned it into an almost-managerial job. He’s so close to a title with a real office, he can almost smell the plywood desk and cushioned roller-chair. Just like the ones they unwrapped on the sales floor every spring. </p><p>They would be his. He would be manager. Ambition rushes to his head and he wonders if he’s inhaled too much bleach. Something always stands in his way: a bad sales quarter, incompetent staff, the random but devastating setback when a goth child dumped a can of monster over the keys of twelve floor model laptops. </p><p>And Kyle.</p><p>Heavens to Christina Koch, Hux positively despises Kyle. Loathes him. </p><p>Is it his perfect, overly-conditioned wavy hair? Or the smugness with which he casually drifts about the sales floor? Maybe Hux just can’t stand how everyone loves Kyle, even though he underperforms every quarter and wastes company time flirting with Reyanne at the photo counter. Hux can feel old Mr. Snokkson’s favoritism toward Kyle. In the back of his mind, he’s worried that corporate will overlook him when the ancient Swede finally vacates the manager position and put Kyle there instead.</p><p>That can’t happen.</p><p>The obstinate polyethylene door jabs his ass again and Hux can feel his frustration fizz over the edge. Growling, he elbows the swinging door. With a deafening clatter, it bangs into the stall frame and he leaps out of his skin, nerves splintered, pulse hammering in his temples.</p><p>When he comes back into his body, he can hear his raspy breathing echoing off the cheap linoleum. He’s crouching in the corner of the stall, pressing to his heart a wad of paper towel covered in pubes. The paper goes into his garbage bag with a reproachful gag and he stands up.</p><p>A fluorescent light sputters.</p><p>He can feel the sound before he can hear it, a low hum that rattles the toilet paper rolls, the dispensing fixtures on the walls and his stomach. The shaking increases in pitch and Hux can see the reddish-blonde hairs on his arms standing upright.</p><p>
  <em> Oh my God, it’s an EMP —just like Father’s sordid Republican websites said... </em>
</p><p>Hux braces himself for the lights to go out or some kind of massive explosion to occur. His guts churn upward and land in his throat. This isn’t how he expected to die.</p><p>But nothing comes. The shaking stops. The only thing left moving is a loose tail of unrolled toilet paper hanging from the dispenser.</p><p>Hux smooths back his hair, releasing a long breath. He tells himself it was nothing but an earthquake. Apparently they’re quite common on this side of the country.</p><p>Then he hears the splash.</p><p>Something very large has just plunged into the toilet next to his.</p><p>“Hello.” His voice grates with trepidation, the tone hardly above a whisper. “Brytni?”</p><p>The water sloshes, flesh smacks against porcelain. He hears a small grunt echo off the ceiling.</p><p>Whatever it is, it's alive.</p><p>His skin crawls with dread; already his blood pressure has doubled and he can feel his veins pumping with fear. Just outside the stall door he can see the exit. If he sprints, perhaps he can make it.</p><p>But he can’t leave. Deep in his bones, he knows he’s the Assistant Manager. It’s his job to take care of this, whatever it is. </p><p>Summoning the aspirational essence of new plywood desk and swivel chair, he bends over slowly, looking underneath the stall. A wave of relief hits him when he sees a small pair of heavy combat boots and a fringe of dark hair. <em> Honestly, Armitage, were you expecting an alien with tentacles? </em>Then he feels a wave of indignation thinking how some junkie had been hiding in there, listening to him rant until she was unceremoniously dislodged by the earthquake.</p><p>It is with this half-embarrassed, half-incensed discomfort that he flings open the next stall door and finds a petite woman wedged ass-deep in the toilet: water swirling over her submerged waist, the lid clapped down over her legs. She doesn’t look like a junkie, in fact, she wears a faded green flight suit with strange symbols. Probably some weird Gen Z thing he can’t comprehend. He stands there, speechless, trying not to become vaguely aroused.</p><p>The woman blinks up at him. Her eyes are a velvety mahogany. Exactly the color he imagined his new managerial desk. </p><p>“Clearly your tools of incarceration are just extra macabre on this planet,” she sighed at him like they were already acquainted.</p><p>He squints.</p><p>
  <em> Well, looks like we have a junkie after all. </em>
</p><p>“Miss,” he begins with his most haughty, crisp Assistant Manager voice. “Are you aware that we are currently closed?”</p><p>“I’m sorry.” She shakes her head, moving the raven sprays of hair fanning from her cheeks. “I’m not familiar with the occupancy laws in this system but I promise you, I’m here by complete accident.” She plucks up a diplomatic tone and asks, “Who’s the local regent on this planet? Just let me contact General Organa and we’ll sort this out.”</p><p>“Yes, hello?” Hux has already dialed 911. “I have an unidentified intoxicated female trespassing in the women’s bathroom at the Stapes off of Union.”</p><p>“Kriff, of course I would land somewhere controlled by the First Order,” she grumbles.</p><p>“Mid-twenties, most likely.” Hux continues, eyeing her warily. “Definitely bring Narcan, I don’t know how much she’s shot up.”</p><p>The woman begins to wriggle and finds that the toilet lid pinching her legs is not actually a restraint. With a squelching sound, she rolls forward, water sluicing off her hindquarters as her feet find the floor. </p><p>Hux cups his hand over the receiver. “What are you doing?” he snips.</p><p>She ignores him and grasps onto the toilet paper dispenser with one hand and the little box for collecting tampons with the other. With legs shaky as a newborn lamb, she stands. Her breath hitches and she closes her eyes like a wave of motion sickness has caught up with her.</p><p>“Come quickly,” Hux chirps into the phone and then hangs up.</p><p>The woman starts to buckle and Hux’s arms are under her shoulders before he can ask himself what he’s doing. She’s soft underneath his grasp. Her flight suit hasn’t obscured the generous swells of her breasts and now the seat clings damply to two juicy, melon-shaped cheeks. He doesn’t even care that she’s soaking with toilet water.</p><p>“What is that?” she looks back at her white ceramic prison.</p><p>“It’s a toilet.” He can’t stop his mouth from twitching slightly.</p><p>“I’m not familiar with that vocabulary.”</p><p>“It’s for the, er… unwanted substances of one’s body.” His cheeks feel hot all of a sudden.</p><p>“Oh,” she murmurs. “Strange that you use so much water.”</p><p>It’s odd to him that she seems both sincere and clear of mind, despite her queasiness. He humors her with a question.</p><p>“What do you typically use… to, ah…”</p><p>“To take a shit?”</p><p>“Yes. You seem perfectly familiar with that vocabulary,” Hux scoffs.</p><p>“Vac tube.”</p><p>“A what?”</p><p>“We shit in a vac tube,” she explains. </p><p>Hux brushes off her odd statement and helps her across the bathroom floor, leaving little drips that make him inwardly groan. There’s a black plastic chair next to the row of sinks he had shoved there several years ago and declared a ‘private breast pumping area.’ Not his most popular budget-saving move. Now, he eased the woman into the chair and brushed the stray droplets of foul water from his beige chinos.</p><p>“Can that comms device connect off world?” She points to the cellphone in his back pocket.</p><p>He looks at her like she has tentacles.</p><p>“Forgive me, so many of those words don’t go together.” Hux blinks rapidly.</p><p>“Let me see it.” She reaches toward him.</p><p>“Absolutely not.” Hux shirks back, pressing himself against the bathroom door.</p><p>The woman stands slowly, she tests herself on her feet and then looks up at Hux with beady eyes that make him nervous. Suddenly, staying in a bathroom with a strange junkie who poops in vac tubes sounds like the worst idea he’s ever had.</p><p>“Give me that comms device!” She lunges toward him and he squawks, scrabbling away from her little hands and yanking open the bathroom door.</p><p>When he flings himself out of the bathroom, he is unprepared for the inky wash of darkness. No matter. He knows the store better than he knows his own apartment. The restrooms are located near the checkout counter by the front entrance, which he has already locked. Hux contemplates attempting to unlock the doors with vac tube girl hot on his heels, but he does not trust his tremor-inclined hands. He will have to make it through the entire sales floor to reach the back exit. </p><p>He bolts down through the middle and cuts up the Millennial-woman stationary aisle (mostly houseplant and #bossbitch themed.) For a moment, a sinking feeling fills him at the idea of leaving his precious store in the hands of a wild pooping junkie. </p><p>Then he sees a little shape springing down the center aisle; her legs stretch in lithe, bounding leaps, surprisingly long for her size. There is a controlled ease to her movements, like she knows her way around chasing assistant managers in office supply stores. He can see her stop and crouch, listening. His insides freeze. </p><p>Insurance would cover stolen or damaged property, and he could always hire an industrial cleaning company for the feculence, he just needed to get the hell out of there.</p><p>Hux creeps behind a display of corgi-shaped notepads. Vac Tube was still poised in the center aisle, surely she would see him if he made a break for the employees only door. His spine runs with shock when he sees her move. She creeps along the floor like a dancer, soundless and graceful. A weird mauve light from the street lamps outside the store illuminates her in dramatic contrast: at one point he can see her face cast in sharp pink and black. She’s fierce, determined. Somewhere underneath his fear, he finds her beautiful.</p><p>Definitely not a junkie. Maybe a serial killer.</p><p>He can just see the headlines now: <em> Promising Assistant Manager Brutally Murdered by Mad Pooping Woman. </em> His heart thunders against his rib cage like it’s trying to escape. His eyes dart toward the office furniture section, the remaining obstacle between him and the door to freedom. </p><p>She has ninja-crawled toward electronics, which is a stroke of luck Hux does not take for granted. He rises like a ghost and floats between rolling chairs and two-level desk units. He is patient, but as he slides between cheap plywood furnishings he makes a mistake. Two mistakes, actually.</p><p>His first mistake is losing sight of her.</p><p>His second mistake is letting loose a blood-curdling screech when she appears before him, inches from his nose. That makes her punch him in the face.</p><p>“Christ!” He claps his hands over his spurting nostrils; blood dribbles down his face and stains his white polo: red as his last name embroidered on the left breast: HUX. “Jesus, God.” It hurts like the devil.</p><p>“Oh kriff, I didn’t mean to hit you that hard.” Her hand drifts to his shoulder, he doesn’t understand why.</p><p>“If you’re going to kill me, do it quickly,” he moans, slumping back into a pleather swivel chair. Might as well enjoy it before she guts him.</p><p>“Just pinch the bridge of your nose.” She reaches up, her petite fingers close around the spot just below where his skull stops and his nostrils continue. </p><p>“Ouch, unhand me!” He slaps wildly, not really making contact.</p><p>“Just hold right there.” She grabs his hand and guides him toward the same spot. He pinches and finds that the squirting blood slows, just as she said.</p><p>“Do you have a medpack?” She ventures after several moments have passed.</p><p>“I don’t know what that is.” He replies, his tone obscured by his plugged nose.</p><p>“Hmm.” Her eyes drift. “Do you have a container with bandages, medical equipment, bacta patches?”</p><p>“I know two of those things,” Hux rises from the swivel chair. She follows him toward the back of the sales floor, they trail side-by-side and he feels the prickle of surrealness. Who is this tiny, beautiful warrioress, clad in a flattering little astronaut’s flight suit and leaving her feces, devil may care, in vac tubes?</p><p>He didn’t care to find out.</p><p>As soon as they reach the employees only door, he whirls around and gives her a solid shove. While she staggers back, he slips inside the door and twists the bolt shut, leaving her shouting and pounding the metal barrier with her fists.</p><p>“Gotcha.” His body floods with relief.</p><p>Hux slinks to the employee lockers, still breathing raggedly between parted lips. The police should be here any moment. He wanders anxiously between the back exit and the break room, alternating between the decision to wait for the cops and the impulse to dash out the door to his car. Butterflies flutter in his guts. What would they do with her when they caught her? Would the cops know about ‘bacta patches?’ Was this one of those government cover ups Father was always talking about?</p><p>He snatches up his black Nalgene from his locker and unscrews the top. His settling gulp of water goes out his nose when he hears a loud click over by the door.</p><p>“Shit.” He coughs, water and blood spraying every direction. His nostrils and throat are raw.</p><p>“What have you done to yourself now?” She’s standing in front of him again. “That is the most rudimentary lock I’ve ever picked, by the way.”</p><p>“How… how did...?” He’s still coughing, his eyes pouring uncomfortably.</p><p>“Hey, you’re really worked up.” Her brown velvet eyes are framed with sympathy. Several soft thumps on his back tell him that maybe she doesn’t want to kill him.</p><p>“Paper towels,” he says, voice raspy. He points to the dispenser above the sink in the kitchenette. The sound of the machine distributing several paper towels is drowned out by another volley of his coughs.</p><p>“This must be a lot for you,” she says softly, dabbing his face. “I’m not supposed to be here. I’m doing a military research project on hyperspace skipping and I must have punched in the wrong coordinates.” She pauses like her mind is working through a puzzle. “Weird that Poe and the ship didn’t end up here too.”</p><p>This makes more sense to Hux. Advanced military research, naval ships, the flattering flight suit —it was starting to sound a little more plausible. Perhaps all the jargon was esoteric technology above him. Maybe vac tubes were the toilets of nuclear submarines. </p><p>A flash of blue and red lights thread between the half-closed blinds of the break room window. The white linoleum reflects the bouncing colors, filling the room with a Christmas-y glow.</p><p>“Bother.” Hux finishes wiping his face and jams the paper towels in the trash can. “I may have… called the authorities on you.”</p><p>“Can they contact General Organa?” she asks warily.</p><p>“I should think so.” He ponders. “Are you stationed at JBLM?”</p><p>“No.” She frowns.</p><p>“Bremerton?”</p><p>“I don’t think you have the clearance to know the location of a Resistance base,” she tries to say politely.</p><p>“Oh, of course.” His cheeks bloom with embarrassment.</p><p>She drifts toward the plexiglass exit and stares balefully out at the lights ricocheting off the back parking lot. There are cops getting out of their vehicles now, they can see someone in the doorway and their posture becomes defensive.</p><p>“Those soldiers, they can get me back to my base?” She asks, voice swirling with suspicion. When she turns to Hux he can detect that she holds worry tensely between her shoulders; that proud lip betrays a slight quiver. Feelings with which he is familiar enough to recognize in someone hiding them well.</p><p>“It seems likely.” Hux wishes he can give her a better answer. </p><p>“Come out with your hands up.” One of the officers croaks through a threatening-sounding megaphone.</p><p>She dutifully puts her hands up and pushes the door open with her hip. Hux is terrified of the police, but as he moves toward the woman to hold open the door, his eye sneaks down toward the alluring angle of her ass pushing against the glass. He almost forgets to raise his hands too.</p><p>The pale, muscley officers approach with bullish self importance: an attitude that Hux usually can’t stand, but coming from a cop he feels utterly cowed.</p><p>"Yes, hello." He tries to project all the authority Staples has granted him. "My name is Armitage Hux and I'm the Assistant Ma..."</p><p>“Is this the intruder, sir?” A bald, jacked cop with a pear-shaped nose gestures toward the woman.</p><p>“Pardon me, officer,” Hux’s voice cracks. “There’s been a misunderstanding.” As he tried to explain the mistake to the police, what had once seemed somewhat logical a moment ago now sounded like jumbled nonsense. Pear Nose and his partner, Bulky, did not seem convinced.</p><p>“What’s your name, ma’am?” Officer Nose addresses Miss Vac Tube.</p><p>“Rose, Rose Tico of Hays Minor.” She fishes in her pocket and pulls out a piece of identification that Hux didn’t recognize. When they look perplexed, she adds, “Otomok System?” Pear Nose shoots Bulky a look that Hux didn’t like. </p><p>“Miss Tico,” the policeman turns her identification around so Hux can see the odd configuration of unfamiliar markings. “What language is this?”</p><p>Rose looks back at him incredulously. </p><p>“It’s basic!” she scoffs.</p><p>“Excuse me?” Pear ducks his head down so that his eyes were level with hers.</p><p>Hux shifts his weight nervously between his feet. Why wouldn’t she answer the questions, and why was she being so snotty? She had basically said ‘ok boomer’ to a police officer, an offense Pear Nose looked unlikely to ignore.</p><p>“You can’t read basic?” Rose lets out a dry little laugh.</p><p>“Ma’am are you a US citizen?” Officer Pear Nose’s tone was turning icey. </p><p>“No, of course not. I just told you I’m Haysian.”</p><p>Bulky interjects, “Do you have a green card?”</p><p>“I don’t think you’re allowed to ask for that here,” Hux pipes up nervously.</p><p>“Shut up, Staples guy,” Bulky snaps.</p><p>“No he’s right,” Pear Nose says imperiously. “Let’s book her.” Hux’s stomach drops as the cop looms over Rose, removing a pair of handcuffs from his belt. “Ma’am, you have the right to remain silen…”</p><p>Blue veins of electricity flash and Pear Nose is flying across the parking lot. </p><p>“What the hell!” Bulky reels backward and Rose dispenses him in an identical fashion. When she turns back toward Hux, she settles a small handheld device back onto her utility belt.</p><p>“They’ll be out for a few minutes and immobilized for an hour,” she says casually.</p><p>“Oh my God!” Hux chokes, surveying the flattened cops lying a dozen feet away. “Oh my arsing God in a box!”</p><p>“You!” Rose strides up to him. “Can you help me make contact with my base?”</p><p>Hux can hear the radio on Pear Nose’s belt crackle with voices. There’s got to be another cop car around the front of the building, and there’s little to no good explanation for what just happened. </p><p>“Come on,” he snarls at her. He grasps her hand and they make a dash toward a grey sedan, the only other car left in the lot. Hux fumbles with his keys and the car’s lights blip cheerily. He seethes through his teeth at the loud announcing beeps echoing across the lot, but it can’t be helped.</p><p>“What kind of a land speeder is this?” Rose jumps into the passenger seat and taps the dashboard as Hux dutifully yanks his seatbelt into place.</p><p>“‘05 Honda Civic,” he answers, not really listening to the question. He turns over the ignition and the engine floods with life. As the headlights pop on, he can see the shape of police officers inside Staples. They’re running toward the back exit. With a small gurgle of fear, he shifts into drive and floors the gas pedal. The Honda jumps forward and they peel out of the parking lot, tires sending up a wail that stretches Hux’s nerves to the breaking point.</p><p>Hux is moaning incoherently as the sedan flies down a side street, jumping into four-lane traffic quicker than he’s ever pushed his little old car. SW Union is sparsely populated this evening, he’s worried that he won’t really disappear by joining the smattering of northbound vehicles. He grips the steering wheel, perspiration forming on his top lip.</p><p>“Why are you breathing so hard?” Rose is watching him. With a quick glance, her beady eyes are already distracting him from the road.</p><p>“You just incapacitated two police officers!” he says jaggedly. “That’s a federal offense!”</p><p>“Are you in any state to operate this ‘05 Honda Civic?” she asks, her tone severe.</p><p>A dreaded blinking silences the reply in his mouth: red and blue lights flash menacingly behind them. Hux grabs the rearview mirror and spots a white police car weaving through traffic.</p><p>“Shit! Shit shit shit…” He yanks the steering wheel and they make a hard right, spilling onto 6th Ave where there are less street lamps. In the dark, he slams on his gas pedal and prays the homeless people are tucked safely in Jefferson Park. They fly down 6th and blow a red light. Hux wonders what devil has possessed him, what the hell is he doing? Who is he right now?</p><p>Several blocks away, they hear the whine of a siren.</p><p>“Why am I almost certain that noise means we’re in trouble?” Rose grumbles.</p><p>Hux thinks she is being cheeky and can’t be bothered to answer anyway.</p><p>“Where are your weapons?” She twists about in her bucket seat, searching the small cabin of the sedan. </p><p>“What?” </p><p>“Blasters? Ray guns? Bow casters? Kriff, I’d even take a slugthrower.”</p><p>“What in the merciless name of God is a slug thrower?”</p><p>Rose makes a frustrated sound. “How are you going to lose those enemy combatants?”</p><p>“I don't know!” he practically shrieks. “I’ve never disobeyed the law before!”</p><p>Hux’s face is pouring with sweat. In the flashing glare of the occasional street lamp, he can see Rose scanning the buildings along the road.</p><p>“There!” Rose shouts excitedly. “Pull the speeder in there!”</p><p>Hux makes a wild left turn, nearly t-boning a minivan.</p><p>“Yes, yes get in line!” She slaps the dashboard.</p><p>He can barely register where he’s going before the angry red tail lights of a pickup truck force him to slam on the breaks. He looks around.</p><p>“...the devil?” Hux throws his hands in the air. “Why are we in a drive-thru?”</p><p>“I saw an inconspicuous row of normal-looking citizens,” she said. “We’ll blend in perfectly.”</p><p>Hux’s throat sounds like a sink disposal for several moments.</p><p>“Plus, I think I’m smelling the most incredible smell!”</p><p>“I’m going to kill you.”</p><p>“Is this some kind of a feeding station?”</p><p>The truck rolls ahead of them and, despite his chagrin, Hux follows obediently.</p><p>The garbled voice that crackles from the sad, dingy box sounds a lot like Hux’s inner compass right now.</p><p>
  <em> Thank you for mnfmnfmfn Dairy Queen can I mnfmnf order? </em>
</p><p>“Stars, is that the food?” Rose squeals. “Those pink things on sticks? And what’s the green stuff with little colorful spots?”</p><p>“Do you serve alcohol here?” Hux yells dejectedly.</p><p>
  <em> Mnfmnffff…  Mnfm nmnf. </em>
</p><p>“Tell them I want one of those pink things!” She squeezes his arm and he looks up into those warm chestnut eyes. </p><p>“Christ,” he sighs. “I’ll take one of your abysmal cherry ice cream bars on a stick. I refuse to say the name.”</p><p>
  <em> Mfmf mf? </em>
</p><p>“Yes.” He sinks into total depravity. “And give me four double cheeseburgers with no pickle or onion.”</p><p>“Cheeseburgers,” Rose whispers like a holy meditation.</p><p>“And an extra large order of fries. Thank you.”</p><p>When they pull forward in line, Hux feels wrung out. </p><p>Two police cars zing down 6th Ave with their lights ignited. They wail pleadingly as they pass, but seem to ignore the silver Honda waiting in line for four burgers and a dilly bar. Hux has squished down in the driver’s seat. He pops back up sheepishly when the sirens fade in the distance.</p><p>“So are you some kind of sanitation worker?” Rose props up her chin, elbow on the armrest.</p><p>Hux snorts. “God, no, I’m the assistant manager of that Staples you so rudely broke into.”</p><p>“Staples.” She turns the word over in her mouth. “It’s some kind of shop, am I right?”</p><p>“It’s not an Office Depot, if that’s what you’re asking,” he sneers defensively.</p><p>“I thought I saw datapads in there… Could you get me one?”</p><p>“Datapad?” He still can’t shake how unfamiliar her lingo seems. “You mean an iPad?”</p><p>“Is that what you call them here?”</p><p>“We sell a full range of Apple products at Staples,” He recites, warming with the familiar phrase. “With a larger selection than Office Depot, I might add.”</p><p>The moonlight hits the dashboard with a soft glow that seems to hover around Rose’s face. He can tell she is watching him —no, studying him. It’s like she’s untangling his wiring, figuring out what circuits aren’t firing. His throat catches as she leans toward him, her body filling out the front of that delicious little flight suit.</p><p>“This Office Depot…” she muses. “You don’t like it.”</p><p>“They’re a competitor,” he replies in his most industry-expert voice, “Office Depot supplies similar product lines, and yet consumers are often unaware of its complete inferiority.”</p><p>“Why wouldn’t they know that?” </p><p>“Because sometimes the worst choice puffs itself up with a lot of fake bluster and pomp,” Hux grits his teeth. “You hope people make the right choice but sometimes they ignore you for something false.”</p><p>“It hurts to be overlooked,” she thinks out loud. “Not wanted.”</p><p>"What would you know about that?" he says coldly, staring out the windshield.</p><p>"A lot, actually." Her reply is quiet.</p><p>He releases a long breath, his ginger head leans back against the headrest, his shoulders dropping. She wants to smooth back his strays of copper hair.</p><p>They pull up to the window and Hux trades his thin debit card for a steaming paper bag covered with colorful illustrations. The moment he hands the bag to Rose, she digs greedily inside. When they pull into a parking space, he watches her paw through the wax paper wrappers and emerge, wide eyed, with a dripping cheeseburger. A smile tugs the corner of his lips.</p><p>“Here.” He coughs subtly.</p><p>Her eyes lock with his, but the cheeseburger remains half-buried in her face.</p><p>“Your pink thing.” Hux proffers the dilly bar. </p><p>A look of rapture overcomes her. Slowly, she reaches for it, the forgotten burger dropping from her lips. Her quick glance at him sends darts of desire between his legs. She takes the popsicle stick and holds the perfect, round burgundy treat in front of her, smelling it, pressing it to her lips. Her first bite is enormous.</p><p>“Cold,” she squeaks with her mouth full.</p><p>“Dear me, mind the temperature…” He snatches up several napkins as she spits her unwieldy bite into her hand. “There you are.” Before he can think better of it, he’s dabbing the side of her mouth.</p><p>“You must think I’m insane, eating like that.” Rose’s eyes fall, long dusky lashes brush the apples of her cheeks.</p><p>“No,” he says softly. He does think she’s crazy, but not for that reason.</p><p>“I’ve never eaten anything like this in my entire life.” </p><p>“You’ve never had a cheeseburger?”</p><p>“Nope.”</p><p>“Nor ice cream?”</p><p>“There were pleasure foods on Hays Minor, but the people who bought those things were in league with the First Order. Eating it would be tantamount to feasting on the blood of your people.”</p><p>“So no ice cream, then.” Hux shook his head, blinking rapidly.<br/>
<br/>
“You know,” she takes another massive bite of her burger. “I’m surprised the food on this planet is so stupidly good, between you, that sad iPad store and the useless lawkeepers, I thought it seemed like a dismal, boring place.”</p><p>“Me?” He sniffs. “Dismal and boring?”</p><p>“Maybe not so boring.” Her little smile warms him straight down to his core.</p><p>Within the last ninety minutes, the woman seated next to him has looked like a junkie, a murderer, a special ops soldier with secret military technology and even a cop-kicking foreign spy. He doesn’t know which of these things she is, but he wants to know more about her. Everything that comes out of her mouth is completely strange to him, and yet her ease, her comfort with him feels like home.</p><p>“Rose Tico.” Hux says, plucking up his courage. “Who the hell are you?”</p><p>Two dark brows pinch together. Her gaze is testing, measuring if the truth can stand on his capacity for the unknown. He seems so stiff and unrelenting, so incapable of change, and yet she finds a flicker of fathomlessness in those green, windstorm eyes.</p><p>“You know I’m not from here, don’t you. I’m not from this planet, Hux.” It’s more of a statement than a question.</p><p>He watches her stuff another burger in her mouth, the indiscreet sound of her eating confirming her alien nature.</p><p>“I don’t know anyone on this planet who has never seen a cheeseburger,” he admits weakly. </p><p>“So you finally get it?” She perks. “You believe me?”</p><p>“God help me.” Hux unwraps a burger. With a sigh of resignation, he takes a bite.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Welcome to Urthha, We have International Criminals, Oatmeal and HBO</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Trigger warning: portrayal of a racist, homophobic character.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Hux drives slowly back to his apartment. The familiar route is like a soothing balm over the shredding edges of his nerves where he is beginning to accept, slowly but increasingly, that the woman in his passenger seat is indeed from another planet, perhaps another dimension altogether.</p><p>Rose’s mind is spinning and her mouth moves even quicker between bites of burger and ice cream. Hux is genuinely interested to hear about the war, the Resistance and the First Order, but he gets lost somewhere between hyperspace lanes and holonets.</p><p>“But the most important question is where am I now?” She chews absently on her popsicle stick. “What planet is this?”</p><p>“Earth.” Hux was proud to have one answer after hearing a long string of incomprehensible things. “This is Earth.”</p><p>“I’ve never heard of Earth, or an Earth System.” Rose taps her lips with the popsicle stick. Hux notices her lips are soft and full: they’re stained cherry red from her dipped ice cream. Suddenly, she cries so loudly that Hux slams on the breaks and they lurch forward.</p><p>“My God!” He shouts, reaching across the middle console and peeling her off the dashboard. “You’d really ought to use a seatbelt!” He points to the dangling buckle above her ear.</p><p>“Oh.” Rose finds the restraint and clicks it into place. “I just realized what planet this is, Urthha!”</p><p>“Of course the galaxy would give us a horrible exonym.” Hux rolls his eyes. He thinks that perhaps it’s only fair. Someone at work this week had just told him that the Japanese do not call their nation Japan, they call it Nihon-koku. (日本国)</p><p>“Oh kriff,” Rose groans. “I’m fairly certain Urthha is known as a rudimentary, underdeveloped planet with an extremely isolationist, hostile population.”</p><p>“That sounds like Earth,” Hux says dryly.</p><p>“Is there any off-world presence here?”</p><p>“Not that I’m aware of.”</p><p>“Do you have something in your history…” she grasps, “like a legend, or cultural memory of people coming here from outside this planet?”</p><p>“There are alien-enthusiasts aplenty but you’ll probably have to wade through a lot of anal-probing stories to sort out anything of merit,” he cackles. Rose gives him a withering look.</p><p>“I remember reading about a huge diplomatic mission the Jedi knights of the Old Republic did a long time ago. They tried to reach out to a lot of the planets with low infrastructure and bring their healing powers and peaceful teachings or whatever. Pretty sure the people of Urthha killed the Jedi they sent here.”</p><p>“Jesus Christ.” Hux shakes his head.</p><p>“At any rate, there’s got to be some intergalactic presence on this planet.” She pauses, he can almost hear her mind whirring. Her features tighten in an adorably pensive scrunch when she’s thinking. “Do you have access to the holonet?”</p><p>“We have the internet.”</p><p>“Well that’s something, what does your internet do? Can it broadcast off the planet?”</p><p>“Honestly, the internet is mostly cat videos and porn.”</p><p>“Kriff.” She rubs her eyes with her palms. “How can nobody in this backwater system know about the billions of life forms struggling for freedom and justice across the galaxy? Are you all just obsessed with stuffing your faces and watching the internets?”</p><p>“In a word, yes,” Hux says in a small voice.</p><p>“You karking Hutt dwangs!” she yells. “All of you!”</p><p>“Now Rose,” he tries his HR voice, “let’s not be xenophobic now…”</p><p>“Don’t you druk-headed nerf herders know that there is military technology out there that can wipe out entire planets?”</p><p>Hux doesn’t know how to answer.</p><p>“Do you think the First Order cares if stupid little Urthha wants to be left alone?” Rose growls at him. “No, they’ll colonize this planet, mine all your resources and leave your people to rot in a pit of pollution like they did on Hays Minor!”</p><p>“That’s your planet, isn’t it?”</p><p>“Yeah.” Rose droops suddenly. She slumps back into the bucket seat and curls her knees under her chin. Hux can palpably feel the sorrow hovering just under the surface of her drawn features.</p><p>“I’m sorry.” His voice is soft.</p><p>They pull into the parking lot behind his apartment complex in the Proctor neighborhood. He likes the location, a few blocks from the waterfront on Ruston Way. The building is tall and futuristic, a splurge that pushes his budget a little but makes him feel like a proper Assistant Manager. Once he steps into his power as official Manager, he plans to upgrade his studio to a fancier one-bedroom with a glimpse of the Puget Sound.</p><p>Hux can feel the peaks and valleys of this evening’s emotions start to level out a little as he locks his Honda and leads Rose up the stairs to his studio. She clutches the smelly Dairy Queen bag as if gripping the one thing that feels familiar in this new landscape of cool hall lights and muffling grey carpet.</p><p>“Here we are, 707,” he says, pointing awkwardly at the large retro numbers tacked to his door. He jams his key into the lock and the entrance creaks open.</p><p>A wave of Target candle hits him as he steps inside (Cedar Magnolia, his favorite.) Rose makes a pleased sound. The quick flip of a switch turns on several modern-looking lamps, casting muted light on the silvery/ash walls.</p><p>The furnishings in his studio have an urban faux-riche vibe which he clings to with zero irony. A black pleather midcentury knock-off Eames chair sits next to a loveseat in the same fabric. The coffee table, bookshelf and side table are all identical maple veneer with mod rounded edges like he’d picked them as a set from a Wayfair.com catalogue. A fern drips from the top of the bookshelf and an enormous monstera hoards most of the space in front of the large window, which Rose notices is also a balcony.</p><p>Hux hangs his keys neatly on a hook by the door and places his wallet in a black ceramic dish beside the candle atop an entryway shelf that holds tidy rows of size 11 ½ shoes. His eyes fall on his coat rack and he remembers he has forgotten his black Patagonia jacket. Damn.</p><p>Rose has already entered the living space, bypassed the seating, and flung herself across his queen-sized bed. She rolls onto her back and opens the Dairy Queen bag, looking inside. Hux winces as a shower of crumbs and loose french fries scatter out onto his perfectly-tucked black linen bedspread.</p><p>“Excuse me,” he says indignantly. “I do have a dining area.” He points across the small square footage to a tiny corner kitchen where two metal stools are pushed under the jutting imitation quartz countertop.</p><p>“Sorry,” Rose mumbles through french fries. She slides off the bed and looks reproachfully into the bag. “You know, these taste a lot worse the colder they get.”</p><p>“Welcome to Urthha,” he says snarkily, brushing the crumbs onto the floor and straightening his duvet. He leans over his dresser and taps on the roomba docked underneath it. When the bumbling, disk-shaped vacuum ambles out onto the hardwood floor, he picks it up and places it at the foot of the bed where it can erase Rose’s mess.</p><p>When he slides onto his stool next to her, she’s making another mess on the counter. With a small scoffing noise, he pulls out his HP laptop and stares at the empty search engine box.</p><p>“So what are we looking for, exactly?” He turns to Rose and pushes a tuft of copper hair out of his eyes.</p><p>“Is that your internets?” She blinks curiously at the screen.</p><p>“Yes, it’s Google. They know everything and they’ll own everything someday, I have no doubt.”</p><p>“Technocracy,” Rose grunts. “There are tons of those in the galaxy. Most of them are with the First Order now.”</p><p>“That’s not comforting.”</p><p>Hux usually assumes someone is watching him, although he never clicks on ads or gives over his personal data in exchange for finding out “Which Disney Princess are You?” or “Analyze your Profile and Find Out Which Medieval Plague You’ll Die From,” as tempting as that might be. The most validated he has ever felt in his life was when it was discovered that Cambridge Analytica was selling the data of those stupid sods who had given their information through Facebook quizzes and games. This is why he avoided Facebook, Instagram, Twitter and the new one named after a clock or something. LinkedIn would suffice.</p><p>“Christ, I’d better be careful what I search, we’re sort of on the run now.” His brows knit together. “Or at least, you are. I have deniability.”</p><p>Rose feels it’s pointless to assign blame, but she can almost taste the anxiety coming off of him. She lets his comment slide.</p><p>“Is there a secure channel?” she asks.</p><p>“I can go incognito and the browser won’t record my search history.” Hux wonders if he’s overestimating the Tacoma Police’s interest in chasing what probably amounts to them as a taser-wielding junkie.</p><p>“Do you think we can access the holonet with that?”</p><p>“I seriously doubt it, Rose. But perhaps there is a secure channel where we could find someone who might know about, er…” He points toward the sky with a tweety bird whistle. “...the whole galaxy out there and whatnot.”</p><p>Hux rubs the exhaustion from his eyes and pulls up a browser that he honestly just downloaded for fun.</p><p>“Is that Goggle?”</p><p>“Google.”</p><p>“Why does it look different now?”</p><p>“This is not Google, it's Tor. It’s an ultra-secure browser for accessing the Dark Web.”</p><p>“How does it work?” She asks, her interest piqued. Rose creeps closer to him, his insides sizzle when her chest brushes against his shoulder.</p><p>“It’s an onion-browser, you probably wouldn’t understand how it worked.”</p><p>“And why would you assume that, Bantha brain?” she snaps. “Are you forgetting who traveled through space to end up in your karky little mercantile?”</p><p>“Alright then, professor.” Hux makes a face. “Basically, an onion browser sends encrypted data through a series of nodes; each stop along the way unpacks another layer of data, sending it to the next place until you arrive at what you were looking for. Only that site doesn’t know who you are because each intermediary stop in the chain only identifies the last place the data has been.”</p><p>Rose blows a raspberry with her tongue. “That might be private as long as you don’t have some sort of traffic analysis measuring data footprints.” She chuckles and picks at her limp pile of french fries, nibbling mindlessly.</p><p>“Where the hell would a processor capable of measuring every data size at once exist?”</p><p>“Data processing servers where I come from run on hyperquantum mechanics, how else would we get information to our ships faster than light speed?” she says smugly. “I bet even a sanitation droid could figure out where your filthy little onion browser has been.”</p><p>Rose lets out a snorting, triumphant laugh and Hux is speechless.</p><p>“Speaking of small droids…” She stands up and hops over to the bedroom area. “Your cute little mouse droid got stuck.”</p><p>Rose is freeing the roomba from the hanging edge of his comforter when a long, striped paw darts out from underneath the black linen bedskirt.</p><p>“Uh, Hux…” She reels back. “I think you have some kind of pest in your unit.”</p><p>“No, not a pest.” He warms. “It’s Millicent.” His voice becomes absurdly high. “Here kitty!” Hux taps the counter with his fingertips, a small noise calibrated to tempt some weird little feral brain.</p><p>A whiz of ginger flies out from under the bed and brushes past Rose’s legs. When she spots the creature, she doesn’t know what it is, but she coos with delight. The small animal has four legs and short, striped fur in various shades of orange. The light tinging of a bell matches the beast’s nimble, clever movements; it frisks across the living room and sits at its master’s feet. Pointy ears prick and hungry eyes follow the skitter of Hux’s fingertips across the edge of the counter. With a lithe spring that defies physics, the animal leaps onto the counter top and makes several friendly mrrps and chirrups while wantonly rubbing its curved side against the screen of his laptop.</p><p>“Off the computer, Millicent.” Hux scoops her off the keys and settles her on his lap. The creature’s eyes close and its legs fold underneath like it has morphed into a cushion. As Rose gets closer, she can hear the soft whirring of a motor, is it animatronic? Hux is rubbing its ears and she reaches out.</p><p>“Careful,” he warns. “She doesn’t prefer strang… well look at that, she seems to like you.”</p><p>Millicent stands on the tips of her teensie apricot feet and curls her fluffy body like an undulating wave to meet Rose’s hand. The fur is so soft. She can tell now that the purring sound is coming from the animal’s chest like a contented, long sigh. Somehow, she’s a bit envious that Millicent can express her satisfaction so overtly.</p><p>“This animal,” Rose begins hesitantly. “What is it?”</p><p>“It’s a cat.” He says, and she’s grateful that he’s finally stopped implying that she should know these things already. “They’re meant to be pets.”</p><p>“A friend of mine had a pet.” She murmurs absently, still stroking Millicent’s fur. “It was something like a cat, we call it a tooka.”</p><p>“Tooka. Hmm,” he repeats. He’s not really listening, he’s watching her face melt into a silly smile as she rubs the cat’s greedy head. Subconsciously, a coil of jealousy tightens around Hux’s middle as he watches her fingers run through Millicent’s copper fluff. His scalp tingles covetously.</p><p>Without warning, Millicent decides she’s had enough petting and jumps down from Hux’s lap. She bounds off toward the bed again and Rose follows, scolding and calling. Hux wrenches his eyes from the juicy seat of her flight suit as she bends over, peeping under the bedskirt. He disciplines himself to stare at his laptop screen.</p><p>“Do you have any keywords or things I might search for that would lead me to your people?”</p><p>“Try ‘General Organa.’”</p><p>He types the name into the Tor search bar and hits return.</p><p>“There’s a Norwegian drug cartel boss named General Organa… oh look it's sort of like a LinkedIn profile.”</p><p>“What? That can’t be right.” Rose straightens, scowling at him from across the room. “Try Leia Organa.”</p><p>“Alright.” He punches that in. “Oh dear, I’ve found a dating site for international criminals.”</p><p>Rose snorts. “Let me see.”</p><p>“This one looks nice.” Hux smirks. He reads underneath a photograph of a leering old white man wearing a horrific scowl and a vintage SS guard helmet. “Looking for romance (dinner, candles, walks on the beach, etc.) and a partner with which to eradicate all inferiors. Sensitive. Willing to cook and clean.”</p><p>“What the kriff?” Her eyes widen.</p><p>“He’s perfect for you,” Hux’s lips twitch. “He’s willing to clean.”</p><p>“Shut your mouth!” She shoves his shoulder and sparks burst in his chest.</p><p>His dry, husky laugh feels like a muscle he’s not used in a long time.</p><p>“Why don’t you try ‘intergalactic resistance,” she orders.</p><p>Hux’s keys clatter and he scans the results.</p><p>“I think these are just strains of black market marijuana.”</p><p>“Marijuana?”</p><p>“Oh wait… mushrooms…”</p><p>“I don’t even want to know.” Rose is rubbing her eyes. Her yawn is a big, ill-mannered cavern on her face and Hux tries not to make a disapproving grimace, recognizing that he gets extra picky about decorum when he’s tired. He closes the browser and swivels in the stool toward her.</p><p>“Perhaps we’d ought to turn in,” he suggests. “I think I’d better get to Staples early in the morning and wipe the security footage so we don’t have anyone looking for you.” He pulls out his phone and adjusts the alarm. When he looks up, Rose’s eyelids are half mast.</p><p>“That’s a good idea,” she says through another yawn. “We can onion browse some more tomorrow.”</p><p>Like a zombie, she wanders to the other side of the studio and sinks into Hux’s bed, robotically removing her combat boots. He stands, watching her with anxiety knotting in his stomach. They hadn’t discussed sleeping arrangements. When she starts unzipping her flight suit, Hux involuntarily sucks in a noisy breath.</p><p>“Something wrong?” Her head swings heavily in his direction.</p><p>“I’ll sleep on the couch.” He ducks behind the wall that partially separates the living room from the bedroom area.</p><p>“Why wouldn’t you use your own bed?” She sounds confused.</p><p>“Because you’re in it!” he snips.</p><p>Hux’s head pops around the corner. When he makes eye contact with Rose, he’s aware that she is wearing nothing but an odd strapless bra and underpants. Rose makes a face like she’s too exhausted for his parochial prudeness.</p><p>“This bed is obviously for two people.”</p><p>“Ah… but you see…” he stammers. “Here on Earth we don’t share beds unless… unless the man and woman, or two men or, uh… two women, or I suppose any non-binary…”</p><p>She slides under the covers and huffs at the ceiling. “Use the other side or don’t. I’m not about to waste perfectly good resources for your dumb Urthha customs.”</p><p>“Rude,” he mutters to himself, wondering if that behavior might be considered racist in an intergalactic sense.</p><p>As he drifts across his apartment he tries to imagine Rose and her war: it seems unlikely that engineers got to be picky about their accommodations. She had said that women were equal soldiers with men. Hux tries to visualize women and men in flight suits like Rose’s: eating together, bunking together, ...perhaps they even even showered together?</p><p>This thought makes his lap twitch.</p><p><em>I must seem like a neanderthal to her</em>. Guilt sweeps over him. Surely Rose’s compatriots didn’t wank off to a copy of Professional Woman Magazine. He’s a monster.</p><p>Quietly, he opens a dresser drawer and fishes out a pair of black track pants and t-shirt. He slips into the bathroom, closes the door and flips the light on.</p><p>“Christ.” He looks like a monster too.</p><p>Rusty brown blood stains pepper his uniform shirt which is miserably wrinkled, even though it's technically wrinkle free fabric. There’s a little more blood crusted to the bottom of his chin, and all of him smells like bleach. Bleach and dried fear. His hair is just about as ruffled as his nerves: it’s come loose from its tidy, slicked-back style and falls floppy about his forehead like a mongrel. Under his eyes are sunken with a sallow violet sheen…</p><p>Unable to bear looking at himself any longer, he struggles out of his dirty shirt and winches on the shower. He kicks off his brown dress shoes and hooks a finger in his white tube socks, pulling them down. His chinos and briefs drop around his ankles and he steps into the frigid sheets of water, hissing through his teeth.</p><p>This moment of cold before the water warms up is his penance. He leans into it, letting the shock of it numb his monstrosities. It feels better to chill the weird tension he feels with Rose, he doesn’t want to risk her seeing him with a hard on.</p><p>Which is what he tells himself when he tweaks the knob switching the water to hot and starts palming his stiffened member. Water pours down his head, plastering his hair around his face like a lost dog. He feels like a dog too, sliding his fingers up and down his treacherous length, slickened with a generous drizzle of Irish Spring. Leaning against the tiled wall, he lets his filthy mind have Christina Koch. Oh God, yes. There she is, bending over in a NASA flight suit; good, good. He’s rubbing furiously now.</p><p>“Shit, no!” Hux bites the inside of his cheek as the image shifts unbidden in his mind. Now it’s Rose bending over to adjust the position of a brand new swivel chair. “Ungg...hell…” His eyes scrunch shut, he can’t stop himself now. She stands, her outfit has morphed into a naughty secretary: short, tight little pencil skirt and a button down spilling her generous cleavage. Her voice is low and sultry,<em> why don’t you have a seat, Mr. Manager?</em></p><p>“Fuck...fuuuck.” He frosts his knuckles, which are already weirdly green from the Irish Spring. His other hand presses against the glass shower wall as his knees buckle. The hammering of his heart in his ears begins to slow. The water becomes a rush of white noise behind him; he stares at the drain and wonders if his sanity is sliding away with the milky clumps of him.</p><p>Hux doesn’t know what he’s doing. Almost everything terrifies him, especially the nonsensical things that come out of Rose’s mouth. But he knows she needs him, if not in her world then just for now, in his.</p><p>Decisively, he straightens up, rinses his hands and washes his hair. The soap suds slide off the narrow planes of his body, leaving behind a fresh resolve to do better by her. He just needed to get some sleep and then spend nine to twelve hours hovering over his staff at Staples tomorrow. After that, he would definitely help her.</p><p>When he steps out of the bathroom the lights are still on, but Rose is sprawled in the middle of his bed: her limbs flung about with abandon, the comforter is half helicopter-kicked off and black linen sheets rumpled around her. She’s loosened her hair and a spray of silky raven locks fan out on the pillow behind her. The sides of his mouth quirk upward before he notices, something new stirs in the pit of his stomach.</p><p>There is no subtext to her actions; no hints, vagaries or eggshells. There was a bed and she got into it. The comforter was hot and she kicked it off. It’s so damn simple, Hux finds her astonishing. Her freedom feels inaccessible —no, impossible for him.</p><p>He can hear the soft drawing of long breaths with the faintest grating: not much of a snore but probably enough to keep him up all night no matter where he sleeps. At the edge of his bed he pauses. Even if he had the courage to slide in beside a complete stranger, she was taking up both sides of the bed. Just the thought of her skin grazing his in the middle of the night makes his pulse start to race and his cheeks burn. He grabs the thick knitted blanket draped over the end of the bed and curls up with it on the shag rug in front of his nightstand.</p><p>Rose’s snoring does bother him at first. He wiggles uncomfortably and huffs, checking his phone and watching another precious hour slip by. His already shortened sleep is draining away. Then, the light buzzing starts to settle in the background of his brain: a rhythm, an ebb and flow that reminds him of running on the beach, his tiny legs struggling to keep up with a copper haired woman. His consciousness reaches out for her, that dim memory of mirthful blue eyes and a high, soft voice reading Dr. Seuss<em>. I would not eat them here nor there, I would not eat them anywhere.</em> Rose’s breaths follow the rhyme’s pattern in his mind and he falls asleep, dreaming about her in a house, with a mouse, in a box, with a fox: tempting, begging, coaxing him to try green eggs and ham.</p><p>When his alarm goes off, his mouth tastes like spiders and his limbs ache stiffly. A rush of adrenaline hits him as he remembers last night’s events. His eyes fly open. With a start, he bolts upright and peers through the muted grey light at the strange lump that’s gathered in the center of his bed.</p><p>His gut pitches toward the floor. The tangled nest of sheets is empty.</p><p>Hux scrambles to his feet. When he stands, he hears the rustle of a plastic bag in the living area. Two steps and he finds Rose, sitting on the coffee table staring at his flatscreen tv and eating potato chips.</p><p>“What are you doing!” He tries to say this scoldingly but can’t help sounding relieved.</p><p>She doesn’t take her wide eyes off the screen. “This holodrama... it’s so intense! I think I’ve watched as many coituses as heads getting chopped off —and I just switched it on!”</p><p>“Christ...” He ruffles his hand through his ginger hair and steps down into the living area. “Why the devil are they running Game of Thrones at five in the morning?”</p><p>“I can’t stop watching, it’s like a Star Destroyer wreck.” She munches potato chips.</p><p>“Why don’t we get you...” Hux bends over her and snatches the plastic bag. “...a proper breakfast.” He is tempted to make some remark about the weak-mindedness of tv obsession, but he recognizes that he needs her to stay out of sight and occupied.</p><p>Anxiety floods him as he visualizes sneaking into Snokken’s office and wiping the security footage —especially the outdoor camera. He darts quickly about his small kitchenette, filling his pot with oats and water, firing up the gas burner. Clinking sounds echo across the small square footage.</p><p>“Who is the main character in this holodrama?” she calls, still glued to the show. He looks up from his handheld coffee grinder.</p><p>“At any time there’s more than two dozen main characters in that show, it’s extremely difficult to follow... you’re looking at Daenerys Stormborn and John Snow.”</p><p>“Are they married?”</p><p>“Ha! No.”</p><p>“What is he doing?”</p><p>Hux dumps the coffee grounds into his pour over V60 and glances at the screen.</p><p>“Oh, he’s trying to get her to use her dragons to defeat the white walkers... it’s a whole thing.”</p><p>“Wait they’re actually just talking about war? Why is he... looking at her like that? What does sex have to do with it?”</p><p>Hux nearly drops his hot water kettle.</p><p>“Is this how people on Urthha negotiate for what they want?” Rose shuffles around and looks at Hux with an air of disappointment.</p><p>“No!” His face blossoms a shade of magenta. “Well... sort of.”</p><p>“Sex is a lot simpler than this where I come from.” she snorts. “With millions of different cultures and customs coming together, people are usually very blunt about what they want. And temporary use of somebody’s body would never be considered a fair exchange for political loyalty! Sex is just sex!”</p><p>“Well, this planet is a long way behind that liberated mindset!” he sputters uncomfortably.</p><p>Hux sets two bowls of oatmeal and two mugs of coffee at his table, realizing that this is the first time his little dining set would be occupied by more than one person. Rose hears the dishware clatter on the wooden surface of the table and she peels her gaze away from the screen. When she sinks into her chair and inspects the contents of her bowl, however, she makes a face.</p><p>“Sorry, not as enchanting as cheeseburgers and ice cream.” Hux raises one eyebrow.</p><p>Her sour expression fades as she scoops up the stodgy breakfast.</p><p>“It’s fine, we eat like this all the time on base. I guess I just had really high expectations since so far the food seems like the main redeeming aspect of your planet.”</p><p>Hux scoffs at this.</p><p>“I suppose if I were a proper ambassador I would have made waffles,” he muses, glancing at his watch. “Shit, I need to get to Staples.” Stuffing his cheeks with oatmeal, he leaps up and rinses his bowl hastily. Rose watches him scurry around the apartment, yanking a comb through his hair while rummaging through his closet. He disappears and then bursts minutes later from the bathroom in a crisp outfit identical to last night.</p><p>“You’re going?” She stands. “What about contacting my base? What about onion browsing?”</p><p>“I’m sorry,” he breathes. “There will be hell to pay if the police find that footage of you getting in my car. Plus it’s inventory day at Staples, I’ll be back around eight.”</p><p>“How long until it’s eight?” she asks perplexedly. “I have my own chronometer, can we calibrate it to your time?”</p><p>“I need to go, Rose, I’ll take a long lunch and come back for a minute, I promise,” he says, becoming a little panicky. He grabs his keys from the dish and bends over to lace up his brown Keens.</p><p>“Hux!” She jumps out from around the table, her chair screeches against the floor behind her. “You can’t leave me here alone all day trapped in this tiny room on some strange planet!”</p><p>“You have Millicent?” he offers weakly. “And HBO?”</p><p>Rose grumbles in a language he has never heard before, but he can tell she’s swearing.</p><p>“I will be back as soon as I possibly can, I swear!” His hand rests on her shoulder out of pure instinct and his touch recoils as soon as he realizes what he’s done. She looks at him strangely. A conspiratorial sparkle lights up in her eye.</p><p>“Try to wrap up as soon as you can,” she demands.</p><p>“Absolutely, I will!” Hux lies, he’s never been home early from work a day in his life.</p><p>As he runs out the door, he sees Rose settle on the couch with her coffee and oatmeal, turning up the volume as John and Daeny weave about a torch-lit cave in the strange, complex mating dance of his people. His feet fly down the carpeted stairs and he wonders how things might be if he was blunt about what he wants like Rose and her kind.</p><p>“Hello, I’ve known you for exactly six hours and you are from space. Would you fancy a copulation? We can be casual like people from your planet and ignore how devastatingly entangling it will be for me, emotionally speaking...” He gags at this idea and throws himself into his Honda with disgust.</p><p>It’s go time. He’s got to erase that footage or things are going to be a lot more entangling with Rose beyond just his fragile emotions. Hux cranks up whatever classical music they have on the NPR station at this hour and pumps himself up to break in to Mr. Snokken’s office.</p><p>Breaking in was perhaps a strong word.</p><p>Hux had made a key to Snokken’s office ever since things had started going downhill for the old Swede. The manager was still lucid enough to avoid corporate’s scrutiny, but if Hux didn’t sneak in and correct the payroll, the staff would be getting a minimum wage from the 90s.</p><p>Most administrative tasks were already allocated to him and Kyle; the managerial vacancy was only a matter time and not creating a disturbance that might tempt corporate to shoot the messenger. Hux had been dropping hints to Janice, the regional manager, since Christmas. His nearest success had been in an email he had subtly copied to her:</p><p> </p><p> </p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>To: Gregor Snokken <a href="mailto:gsnokken@staples.com">gsnokken@staples.com</a></p>
  <p>From: Armitage Hux <a href="mailto:ahux@staples.com">ahux@staples.com</a></p>
  <p>Cc: Janice Levinson <a href="mailto:jlevinson@staples.com">jlevinson@staples.com</a></p>
  <p>
    <strong>Re: Making sure we have enough paper for a border wall</strong>
  </p>
  <p>Mr. Snokken,</p>
  <p>I’m certain our paper order will be sufficient for March sales. I am curious what you mean by “extra units that can stack high enough” and how this might “keep out the rapists” as you suggest. I’ve CCed Jan for her comments. Please advise.</p>
  <p>—H</p>
  <p>Armitage Hux</p>
  <p>Assistant Manager</p>
  <p>Staples</p>
  <p>302 Union Ave NW</p>
  <p>Tacoma, WA 98355</p>
  <p>__________________________</p>
  <p>
    <em>Original message:</em>
  </p>
  <p>To: Armitage Hux <a href="mailto:ahux@staples.com">ahux@staples.com</a></p>
  <p>From: Gregor Snokken <a href="mailto:gsnokken@staples.com">gsnokken@staples.com</a></p>
  <p>Hux, we NEed at leaSt seVerAl hUNDred thouSAnd mOre reaMs of ClasSIc A4. thOSe DemS wilL bLOck fUndIng fOR the WALL and NaNCy PeloSI iS a leSbIAN cOmMie...</p>
  <p>
    <em>Click to show all of original message.</em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p> </p><p>Unfortunately, Janice had either overlooked the contents of the message or ignored it for some bureaucratic reason that both frustrated Hux and fascinated him endlessly. Just the sheer flex of it. To have the power to acknowledge or ignore was tantamount to creating reality. It was enticing.</p><p>The building is quiet and still when Hux pulls up to the back lot. The rear doors are still unlocked and wear yellow police tape, which Hux discreetly tears down, wraps up and throws away, guilt swelling in his chest. It’s not like the cops won’t be back, he just wants to do damage control before his employees and boss arrive. This doesn’t have to look that bad, right? His thudding heart tells him otherwise.</p><p>The store looks just the same as it had last night, although there are signs of a forced entry on the front door. Hux cusses under his breath and makes a mental note to order a new lock.</p><p>He braces himself to accomplish the task he’s arrived early to do. With sweat sticking to the back collar of his shirt, he pushes against Snokken’s door and is shocked when the hinges swing free.</p><p>“Mr. Snokken!”</p><p>Shock freezes his veins. Two beady eyes peer around a white desktop computer, they’re sunken in a half-bald head, wrinkled like a withered apple. The eyes blink.</p><p>“I was most distressed to receive a phone call about a break in.” Snokken’s reedy voice creaks with reproach. “Although I’m not surprised, this country’s going to hell in a hand basket.”</p><p>“Oh most certainly, sir.” Hux straightens, his voice placating. “It was a junkie hiding in the bathroom, gave me a terrible scare actually.” He thought it would be smart to stick to the truth as much as possible.</p><p>“Any merchandise taken or damaged?”</p><p>“No, sir.”</p><p>“Odd.” Snokken taps a gnarled finger to his lips. “Perhaps it’s a case of corporate espionage, do you remember the cameras we found in the light fixtures?”</p><p>“Those were LED bulbs, sir.”</p><p>“And the government forced us to buy those, they eradicated the incandescent bulb under the guise of that nonsense eco mumbo-jumbo... clearly a conspiracy by China-owned Office Depot to take our trade secrets!”</p><p>“It’s possible,” Hux sighs.</p><p>“Hey.” An enormous shadow fills the doorway. The newcomer is 6’4” and all shoulders with a slight stoop and heavily muscled arms. His hair is black, shoulder length and ever-shiny. “What’s this about a break in?” His impossibly bassy voice rattles Snokken’s thin computer monitor.</p><p>Shit, why did Kyle get a call about this? Hux shoots Kyle a nasty glare.</p><p>“Hux was attacked in the restrooms last night,” Snokken rasps. “The police called me early this morning to inform me that the officers who were assaulted by the perpetrator in our back parking lot are coming this morning to review the footage, assuming I can get this miserable machine working...”</p><p>“Careful,” Hux interjects, his insides whirling. “Wouldn’t want to accidentally erase it!”</p><p>“Yeah, especially if there’s a play-by-play reel of Hux getting his ass kicked...” Kyle’s laugh sounds like rocks colliding. “This I’ve gotta see.”</p><p>Kyle lumbers around Snokken’s desk and Hux loses control.</p><p>“Wait!” he shouts.</p><p>Two heads swivel toward him.</p><p>Hux’s face is blistering with alarm, his mouth opens and closes like a fish.</p><p>“The footage...” Hux fumbles for what to say. “I need to see it first.”</p><p>“Why?” Kyle asks slowly.</p><p>“I...” he chokes. What would Rose say? “I shit myself.”</p><p>“You what?” Snokken’s narrow eyes become incomprehensibly smaller.</p><p>“Last night... the perpetrator cut off my escape to the back room and... well...”</p><p>“Oh there is nothing you can pay me not to watch this now.” Kyle grabs Snokken’s mouse.</p><p>“Now, Kyle,” Snokken intervenes. “Let the boy have his dignity. You know, back in Korea there wasn’t a day when I didn’t load my fatigues, but of course during that time the commies were more overt...”</p><p>“Thank you.” Hux takes the mouse from Kyle and flips the monitor around so he can see the black and white recording on the store monitors. While Snokken regales them about his army days, he finds the fifteen minutes of incriminating tape. Every inch of his viscera tightens, winding itself in an anxious knot. There’s really only one way to make this go away now and not get caught, but it’s a risky move.</p><p>Holding his breath, he selects all the cameras’ footage between 11:23pm and 11:38, before Rose appears on the sales floor camera and after his Honda speeds out of the back door’s view. He right clicks “delete” and a small query box appears, asking innocently, “Are you sure you want to delete?” Holding his breath, Hux clicks and drags this box off into the corner of the screen. When he turns the monitor around to face Snokken and Kyle, it looks like the footage is unchanged.</p><p>“Alright,” he says shakily. “I suppose it’s dark so you can’t really see my... unhinged moment.”</p><p>“Not that it matters, this is still going to the police anyway. But now I’m definitely going to guess when you dump your pants,” Kyle cackles gleefully.</p><p>“We’d better watch it first so we can identify Office Depot’s miscreant saboteur,” Snokken agrees. “How do I get it to play?”</p><p>“Hit enter,” Kyle says. Hux’s blood roars in his ears.</p><p>“I did it...” Snokken blinks at the screen. “What did I do, where did it go?”</p><p>“Let me try.” Kyle snatches the mouse and rewinds the footage. “Hey, what happened, Snokken? You deleted it!”</p><p>“That’s impossible! Filthy confounded thing!” the Swede yells at the computer.</p><p>“Really, Snokken, the police will be quite upset!” Hux adds. It takes everything in him not to shout with hysterical delight.</p><p>“Wait a second...” Kyle eyes him scrutinizingly. “You did something, didn’t you?”</p><p>“How did I do that, Kyle?” Hux fires back. “You saw it yourself!”</p><p>“You didn’t want anybody to see you shit yourself!”</p><p>“Oh yes, so I magically went into Snokken’s mind and made him delete the footage of me shitting myself!” Hux is bluffing better than he ever has in his life. “Brilliant, really.” He rolls his eyes.</p><p>Kyle grunts but his face tells Hux the matter isn’t settled.</p><p>He can hear the bell ding in his mind, round one: Hux = 1, Kyle = 0, but the day is only getting started. And it’s inventory day.</p><p>Plus, there’s a girl from space in Hux’s apartment and the cops are looking for her</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Aaaaaaaa! Tell me everything! What did you like?</p><p> </p><p>Check out some of my other stories:</p><p>For some long, smutty historical GingerRose, save a horse, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24257374/chapters/58457770">ride a Cowboy Hux.</a></p><p>If you're somebody who eats organic and hates 'the man,' try this <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24847708">comedic one-night-stand.</a></p><p>Support my writing <a href="nofollow">here.</a></p><p>Thanks for reading! Be sure to smash that subscribe button to get the next update! 😘</p>
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